Muskrat
by Amazing Michelle-Man
Summary: In an attempt to make Batman more ‘sociable,’ Dick comes up with a word that, once said, Bruce has to be nice. Superman might not get the best end out of it though…
1. The Living Room

What can I say; I like my one-shots. Especially the short and sweet ones like this.

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Batman, Superman, or any related characters. I don't even own the codeword 'Muskrat'; I stole the idea from Meet The Fockers, when the mother-in-law has to say it to make the father-in-law nice to the main guy.

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**Muskrat**

Clark Kent walked into the living room, introduced by Alfred as "coming to visit". He stepped in front of Bruce, who was sitting in a chair, took off his hat and smiled but before he could say anything, Bruce growled, "What are _you_ doing here?"

"Hey Clark," came a greeting from the next chair with Dick Grayson seated in it, Bruce's all-grown-up-and-moved-out ward. "Did you hear about that _muskrat_ that got loose the other day? _Nasty_ business." Bruce shot him a look and Dick shot him one right back.

"Uh…no, I can't say that I have," Clark said, confused.

Bruce stood up and shook the other man's hand, "Good to see you Clark," he said without an ounce of pleasantry on his face.

If Clark wasn't confused before, he sure was surprised at Bruce's kind greeting now. "Good to see you too, Bruce. Anyways, I just came around to see if you wanted to go talk over coffee or something. I had a free day, and thought we could hang out."

"I have perfectly good coffee here. But thanks for the offer," Bruce snarled.

"Is that a _muskrat_ out in that tree?" Dick wondered, looking curiously out the window.

Bruce's eye twitched and he grimaced, "I mean…that sounds great. Let's leave now so we can get home faster."

Dick was suddenly overcome with a cough that sounded a lot like 'muskrat'.

Bruce pulled his lips back and twisted his face in what seemed to be a growl, his eyes so dark, Clark stepped back a little before he realized it was a very painful looking smile. "You can drive if you'd like," but the look was telling him if he drove, he'd die.

He was pushing his luck, but Clark thought that this was the best time if any to ask. "Yeah…and maybe afterwards we can go to that comic book convention in Trenton. It's supposed to be really big!"

Behind him, Bruce heard, in a sing song-y voice, "Muuuskraaat."

He turned around and charged at the young man, who exclaimed "Oh snap!" before being gripped by the throat, and hit everywhere Bruce's other hand could reach. "ACK! Stop! Help! Clark, help!"

The second man zoomed forward and pulled Bruce away, but Dick was dragged with him. After a few minutes of struggling, Clark threw Bruce onto the couch across the room and helped Dick up.

Bruce stood, brushed himself up, straightened his suit, and started to walk out the door, saying in a calm but dangerous voice, "come on, let's go get that coffee."

"Uh…maybe we should take a rain check-"

"YOU SAID YOU WANTED COFFEE, SO WE'RE GOING TO GET SOME DAMN COFFEE!" he roared from the hallway.

Clark gave Dick a look that clearly said 'Help me', but he just smiled sadly and pushed him towards the door.

"I trust that the codeword has not quite worked the way you planned?" Alfred asked, having walked in just in time to see Clark walk out of the room, his head down and shoulders slumped.

"If anything it made it worse. Let's just hope for Clark's sake, Bruce doesn't have any kryptonite on him."

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**Poor Brucie, having a bad day.**

**Next Chappie: The Comic Book Convention**

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	2. The Comic Book Convention

I'm sorry; this idea was just too funny to not continue, especially since I love Bruce's and Clark's friendship

**Disclaimer**: Same as first chapter, but in this one, I don't own Iron Man, Captain America, or Marvel Comics in general.

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**Muskrat**

Walking through the rows of tables, piled high with comic books, action figures, posters, and more, Bruce Wayne kept his hands in his pockets and his head down. _God, this is so embarrassing,_ he thought, as Clark Kent walked next to him, pointing out his favorite heroes and spitting random facts in Bruce's face. They walked up to a stage where actors, dressed up as superheroes, were giving some kind of speech.

Watching Captain America talk about liberty and justice for all, Superman muttered under his breath with a smile, "What a rip-off."

"If anyone's a bad rip-off, _you_ are; Captain America was created in 1941, 20 or 30 years before you were born. Besides having super-strength, agility, and endurance, a bulletproof costume, and an indestructible shield, he also knows American style judo and fought Hitler and the Nazis in World War Two." Bruce stalked away before he saw Clark's incredulous look at his knowledge of comic book superheroes. "_And_, he had a side-kick," he said, settling the matter, while still walking away.

But before Bruce could get to the door, a young man and woman stopped him in his path. "Oh my gosh, are you Bruce Wayne?!" the girl screamed wildly, getting unwanted looks from all around.

"Quiet, kid, get out of my way."

"Oh my gosh, you are!" the boy said excitedly. "I think you're so cool, I wanna be just like you."

"What?" For one wild second, Bruce thought the boy was talking about being Batman, but there was no way a little twerp like this could know. Then again, Tim had figured it out…

"You're just like Tony Stark! Man, If I had money like you, I'd totally make my own persona and start my _own_ war on crime! It'd be great."

"Wait…I'm like whom?" Of course, Bruce knew _exactly_ who Stark was, but he had already slipped with Clark, he couldn't let anyone else know his secret about comic books.

"Tony Stark! You know, Iron Man? Duh," he said, like every person in the world knew who that was. He picked up a comic book from a nearby table and shoved it in Bruce's face, who took it and looked over the red and yellow clad hero.

"Wasn't there a movie made about this guy?"

"Awh, man, you're a movie fan? How lame! You gotta read the _comics!_ The movies are always cheap remakes."

"You know," his girlfriend said thoughtfully, "He's kind of got a Superman face. And he's definitely got the build for it."

"Awh, yes! You're Superman, aren't you? That'd be so cool!"

"Why _the hell_ would I want to be some-" Bruce started, but was cut off by Clark's muskrat cough behind him.

He slowly started to turn to the other man, who realized too late that the dark look on his face meant serious danger.

And right in the middle of the convention, Bruce Wayne punched Clark Kent square in the nose, promptly breaking his own hand.

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**Yes, Batman is a Captain America fan. Who knew?**

**Maybe I'll do a Hospital scene next for Bruce's poor hand.**


	3. The Hospital

Sorry this is so late. I had it planned out, but then I forgot the punch line.

To see more Bruce/Clark BEST FRIEND awesome-ness, go check out my story Elevator Music 2 on my other account, _M-O and WALL-E_. Basically just bashing each other's franchises.

Ugh, I'm advertising. What has FanFiction brought me to?

**Disclaimer:** Same as before but with Tim, the batmobile, and the batcave added.

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_Dick: "Gosh, Bruce, those muskrats and musk deer sure are musky."_

_~ "Batman" (TV show from the 60's) ~_

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**Muskrat**

Bruce hated doctors.

It didn't matter what kind they were, he hated them all.

Pediatricians, dentists, surgeons, orthodontists—oh God, the orthodontist, what a nightmare _that_ year of his life had been.

Because the fact stood that he didn't have much luck with doctors. Between Thomas Elliot, Alexander Sartorius, Kirk Langstrom, and Dr. Death, Bruce wasn't really up to seeing another one. Not to mention the bad luck Batman always had when meeting new people or being outside of his mansion in general, he couldn't help but wonder if a bombing, kidnapping, robbery or other such local, national, or worldly disaster would take place simply because he was here.

And so was Superman.

_Oh God, someone is going to die today, I can just feel it. _

Bruce sat on the paper covered bed as the doctor set his bones and began wrapping them. He didn't make a sound, in much too bad of a mood to not be Batman.

After he had punched Clark at that stupid comic book convention, Clark, covering his face to hid the lack of blood, had gotten him away, but not before the fan-boy started screaming to everyone who he was. Then, of course, the reporters had taken pictures, all asking why the resident millionaire playboy was at a comic meeting, of all places to hang out. At least Clark had been able to blur his features for the cameras; Bruce was going to be hearing about this one for weeks.

When that was done, and he was out in the waiting room, he found that Clark had left him alone at the hospital.

"Son of a-"

"Mr. Wayne?" one of the nurses called to him. "I have a message from a…" she checked the note in front of her,"…Clark Kent. He called a cab for you and says he was sorry he had to leave but he… 'Heard a disturbance'? I'm not exactly sure what he meant, but-"

"Yes, thank you," Bruce cut her off gruffly and walked out after signing the appropriate papers.

After fuming in the cab and glancing out the windows with paranoia, still convinced he wasn't going to get away so lucky, Bruce finally made it home, just in time for nightfall, the best time of the day.

He went straight down to the Batcave and saw Tim at the Batcomputer, already suited up. "Hey Bruce," he called. Then he saw the bandages. "Whoa, what happened to your hand?"

"Has Dick left yet?" Bruce ignored Robin's question.

"Yeah, he left an hour ago. He regrets not seeing your reaction after going to a _comic-con _with _Clark._ I didn't really believe you went. Is it true?" When he looked up Bruce was already gone to get dressed. "Fine, I'll just talk to Clark about it later," he added to himself.

When Bruce finally returned as Batman, he sat at the Batcomputer. "Any trouble tonight?"

"Well," Robin cleared his throat, hardly suppressing a smile, "there was a police call 20 minutes ago about supposed gang activity in the east side but I don't think you're going to like it."

"How do you mean?"

"They're, um…packaging illegal furs."

"**What kind of furs?**" Batman asked, already knowing. What else would make Robin snicker like that?

"…Muskrat furs."

Batman's face hardened. _"__**…Really**__."_

"Heh, yeah." Robin backed up a bit.

He sighed, or rather, growled, "**Come on**," and marched to the Batmobile, Robin just behind him.

"It's kinda funny though, when you think about it."

Batman turned to glare at the boy. "**How so?**"

"Well, I didn't mean like, 'ha-ha funny', I meant, what kind of an idiot sells _muskrat furs?_ Is that even profitable?"

"Anything that's **possible** is **profitable**, and anything's **possible** in **Gotham City**."

"Well said," Robin commented before they got in the car; the only thought going through his head was what a rough night these guys had ahead of them.

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**Kudos if you know who all the doctors are that I named in the beginning.**

**Anyways, this is the end. I've run out of brainchildren. Constructive criticism would be awesome, especially grammar/spelling.**


End file.
